


To Drink From Lethe

by krillia



Category: Saint Seiya
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-16
Updated: 2012-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-02 00:44:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krillia/pseuds/krillia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night before the siege on Sanctuary, the resurrected gold saints try to deal with each other and their own emotions. Saga is desperate for a way to mentally escape, and though he's not that much better off, Camus tries to help any way he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Drink From Lethe

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the Sanctuary and Hades story lines, although at this point both are old enough that I doubt they need that. I largely draw from the anime, with occasional borrows from the manga.

It may have seemed odd to some - staring out a window hours after the sun had dipped behind the mountains. To watch as it faded, leaving in its wake an insidious darkness that devoured everything outside, and within, the thick walls of the mountain fortress. But to the young man who stood within the black fortification, elegant body unscarred, completely in contradiction to the state of his mind and heart, it made perfect sense. For Saga, the ability to see again, and to hold the knowledge that he could not make out what features lay beyond the glass, the windows were a symbol of all that had been given to him…and all that had been taken. For the war-torn man, looking out of the ramparts was only natural.

And then there were those afraid to look, afraid to face the windows and the truth. For with the knowledge and comfort that came with having ones senses restored to capacity, also came the unbearable burden of destiny, and the price they would pay in the morning. The decisions they would make.

With a sigh, another child of destiny leaned heavily against the strong pillar at his back. He closed his eyes, wondering at the justice of being given the choice of multiple paths, when all of them would eventually lead to the same place and an equal burden of pain.

They could only choose the path that would result in the least betrayal, and the most honorable death.

_“Honorable, even as we besiege the temple of our protector and goddess,”_ Camus thought, a sardonic smile gracing aristocratic features. His hands trembled as the words of their leader in this campaign came to mind: “We may be forced to hurt or destroy those we count as our closest friends to complete this mission. It will be painful, but you must remember, that in doing this, you shall not betraying yourself nor that which brought you to this moment.”

The words had been powerful, delivered by a man who had seen friends die and gods perish in the name of honor. But the words were also a false comfort, a call to rally troops who had no other option but to answer, no matter what the cost may be to them. Shion had known that. Camus had seen it in his eyes; had seen the sharp pain cutting through the carefully arranged expression of strength the ancient Saint had strived for.

“He’s much weaker than he should be…”

The comment violently jarred Camus from his thoughts. The green-haired man swung his head to look at the speaker through tired eyes. “Meaning what, Cancer?”

Deathmask smirked, pleased that the Aquarius Saint had chosen to answer. The silence had begun to eat at his patience.

“Gemini,” he answered, referring to the still motionless Saga. “He feels himself a failure, and seeks escape, even now.”

The words were blunt, raw, and for a moment Camus felt he should be taken aback or even angry with the other man, but looking closely at the bigger Saint, Camus caught the glint of malicious mischief in his eyes. Deathmask was purposely trying to inflame and anger him. Nearby, another one of their companions raised his head, glaring at the Cancer Saint with the loathing that Deathmask sought from Camus. Before the situation could escalate, Camus sighed and shook his head. “The Gemini Saint is stronger than he looks, Deathmask. Do not misjudge his ability.”

Deathmask seemed to hesitate, watching Saga through half-hooded eyes. “I don’t doubt his strength for a second. I doubt his desire to complete this mission.”

Camus nearly laughed. That Deathmask felt himself worthy to judge the other Saint was almost comical. That he was judging Saga on his desire to complete the task ahead of them was pure stupidity!

“He is smart enough to realize that his desires have nothing to do with the direction our actions must take,” the Aquarius Saint replied. He would have said more, but suddenly found himself interrupted by the angry and desperate words from the previously silent witness to their conversation.

“He’s in pain, Cancer,” the dark-haired man snapped as he stood up. “He has lived through this once, deprived of the power to choose, and now Hades would have him do so again.”

Camus shook his old older man’s direction, trying to calm Shura before the situation climbed to the level Deathmask wanted, something that would ultimately be bad for all of them. But the Capricorn Saint would have none of it. Shura was overwhelmed by his own anger at this man in their midst – a man who had willingly betrayed the goddess once, dared judge them without evidence. The pain he felt over his own past had struck him to the core. The elder Saint’s rage was palpable, and it was reflected quite beautifully in his words.

“He will complete this mission, but it hurts him as it hurts all of us – deeply and without end.” Shura paused, moving his gaze to Deathmask with a dark, malevolent smirk. “Unless…you are enjoying this?”

So much for not allowing the situation to escalate.

Camus bowed his head, realizing Deathmask had accomplished his goal. He had fulfilled his desire for a fight, and defusing the situation now would be nearly impossible with the explosive nature of the Capricorn Saint as the new target. As Deathmask's eyes grew hard from the unexpected attack, Camus quickly stepped back, removing himself from the confrontation.

“Of course I’m not enjoying it!” he growled. “I hate the deception, I hate lying, and I hate not being able to do anything about these things!” He paused briefly, letting his words sink in. “But, unlike the Gemini Saint, I have nothing to redeem myself from.”

Shura hesitated at first, but when Deathmask chose to continue the assault, he was quick to riposte the verbal attack. “You, Deathmask, have everything to redeem yourself from! You doubted the truth of Sanctuary’s governance, and yet you did nothing!” His lip curled into an angry snarl as he took a fighting stance and advanced on the younger man.

Deathmask laughed. “No, Shura. To redeem myself, I would have to regret what I did. I have always been honest in where I stood. The issue wasn’t who was in control of Sanctuary, but rather who was most worthy to hold power there that motivated my choices and my actions.”

The Cancer Saint was grinding his teeth now, both consciously and unconsciously forcing the situation to escalate further, and preferably, into physical violence.

“As for you, Shura, you can hardly talk. You haven’t exactly shown the most exemplary behavior either.”

Camus heard a sharp intake of breath behind him that echoed his own disbelief at the Cancer Saint’s words. Deathmask’s intentions were obvious, and he was doing an excellent job of reaching his end, as evidenced in the way Shura keeled back before straightening. The statement was incomparably cruel to the Capricorn Saint, who had given and lost everything simultaneously. Shura was not long defeated, however, and although his voice cracked as he responded, the change in pitch did nothing to lessen the venom in his tone.

“Perhaps I didn’t, but at least I didn’t give up on my side simply because it looked as though it would lose!”

Like Deathmask’s own attack, the words were purely meant to incite. Both men knew that neither phrase met the essence of the others’ behavior and motivations. In fact, Shura’s remarks were almost pure fiction, but still a direct attack on the Cancer Saint’s honor.

Deathmask responded by shifting his weight into his own fighting stance and gathering his Cosmo around him. Tension sparked in the air, tangible almost to the point of a physical presence. The two Saints had purposely sent each other past the breaking point. A fight was inevitable.

Even Saga was paying attention now, watching the two would-be combatants square off. Some of those present looked nervous, while others simply looked exhausted as Cosmo flared around the fighters. Neither man was in a mood to hear reason. In fact, they seemed more likely to ignore it, for simple escape. Camus exchanged a look with Shion as the Aquarius Saint stepped forward in an attempt to break the two Saints’ sudden need to destroy each other. But before he could speak, two red roses suddenly floated expertly through the air, one landing elegantly in front of each man.

“If you two have finished comparing the sizes of your egos, among other attributes, we have more important things to worry about.”

Aphrodite’s soft voice was annoyed and mildly angry as he stepped smoothly in front of Shura and bent towards the rose, picking it up and crushing it between his fingers inches away from the dark-haired mans face.

“You are not a fool, Capricorn. Do not stoop to a level that would make you appear as such,” he murmured before turning towards Deathmask. He studied the Cancer Saint with an indiscernible expression that could have easily been pity, anger or something else entirely. “And I’m sure you know better, Deathmask. If you want a fight, there are those who would willingly give you one. Those who would not require you to disgrace yourself with cheap tricks”

Deathmask snorted. “You’re offering?” he asked.

Aphrodite shrugged. “I’m not unwilling to spar with you, and I’m sure this castle would be more than happy to provide the appropriate space. Shall I inquire and meet you back here?” The elegant man asked with a smug smile, fully aware that he alone had diffused the rage of the Cancer Saint. He reveled in the power that it gave him.

Camus rolled his eyes. _“Must we all be such children? Do we really gain any pleasure from these games?”_ he asked himself, wondering at the intelligence of even his own actions.

Shura, however, was still fighting for control within himself. He suddenly snapped. “Should anyone need me, I’ll be in my…assigned quarters!” he announced curtly, leaving before any further words could be exchanged.

Camus hesitantly moved forward a step, wondering if he should follow, but Shion shook his head. _“Let me. I mean no insult, but he considers you only an equal, and is unlikely to listen to your counsel. He may be more inclined to listen to one older than himself.”_

The words were spoken directly into the younger man’s mind, and Camus nodded his head in agreement moments before the former Aries Saint hastily trailed after Shura.

Aphrodite watched them leave, and then turned his attention back to Deathmask. “I will see you in a few minutes?” he asked, waiting for a nod that was little more than a token gesture. After bowing respectfully to Camus and Saga, he also took leave of the room.

As Aphrodite departed, Deathmask relaxed, smirking at the two remaining men before walking across the room and springing up into one of the large chairs that lined the walls, sprawling across the seat with a masculine grace. Saga watched him for several minutes, an odd expression playing over his features before finally sighing and turning towards Camus, his dark eyes searching the younger man’s face. A question burned within Saga, but before he had a chance to speak, the door opened once again. None of the men left this time, but a presence entered.

The insidious and untrusting nature of the one who entered was palpable to the three Saints remaining in the room. They raised their heads to watch the newcomer warily, and did not move as he approached. For several long, tense moments, it was a standoff between the Saints and the tall, winged being that had invaded the sanctity of their cloister. The silence was finally broken by Saga. The blue-haired Saint swallowed hard and forced a pleasant smile as he stepped forward to address the creature.

“Wyvern, do you have need of us?”

Rhadamanthys shook his head slightly, rustling the great wings of his Cloth.

“It is not I who have need of you,” he replied with a mix of courtesy and undeniable jealously. It was no secret the Specter was indignant over his master’s decision to use the Gold Saints in his plan. “I was simply asked to check on you, and to make sure you were comfortable,” he continued. His irritation at being chosen to perform such a menial task was evident in his words and his demeanor. The incline of his head and the disdain in his eyes spelled anger to the Gold Saints.

Saga shook his head. “Your hospitality has been admirable. I believe that we are all quite satisfied with your master’s accommodations.” The Gemini Saint offered the answer as politely as necessary, forcing the words out between partially clenched teeth. “Your concern, however, is appreciated,” he added, grating through the tense silence that had befallen the room.

The Wyvern Specter accepted Saga’s remarks with barely veiled disdain. He stared at the young man for several moments before inclining his head. “I’m glad to hear that you are comfortable. My master would have it no other way,” he responded with transparent etiquette. It was obvious that Rhadamanthys himself could not have cared less about the comfort of the resurrected Saints. He paused, thinking for a moment. “Oh, and I was also asked to give you, Gemini, the remaining parts of your protection.” The Wyvern Specter held up the dark piece of metal in his hand. It was the Gemini headpiece, one of the few parts of the Cloth that had not been created prior to the resurrection of the Gold Saints, but had been promised to the Saints at a later date.

Saga nodded, a false smile of gratitude curving his lips as he accepted the helmet with a slight bow. As he reached out, he noted that it was identical in all ways to the Gemini Cloth except in color. _“Black,_ ” he thought. _“To reflect the very nature of the purpose with which it was created.”_ He paused for a moment as this realization suddenly made his arm weaken, becoming as heavy as though they were made of lead.

The Wyvern Specter did not miss the barely perceptible hesitation. He smirked, pure acid dripping from his smile. “As much as I’m sure my lord would like Athena to see the faces and eyes of those who defeated her seconds before, and perhaps after, they take her life, it is impractical to walk into battle with one’s head unprotected.”

Saga’s hand hovered inches above the headpiece as he obviously tried to force himself to take the newly forged armor. His eyes bore into the Wyvern Specter’s as the two warriors fought a mental battle. Rhadamanthys searched for weakness while Saga struggled for strength.

The tension in the room was tangible, and it was Deathmask who offered the Gemini Saint an escape. Swiftly, before anyone could react, the Cancer Saint stepped forward, deftly plucking the helmet from Rhadamanthys’ hands and holding it up to the light. Ignoring the deadly look given to him by the Wyvern Specter, he turned the helmet over, scrutinizing the workmanship. He stopped to glare hard at Saga then turned to Rhadamanthys with a wicked smile. “You really should compliment your smith. The craftwork on these new pieces is as fine, or better, than the original.”

Anger flashed across the face of the Specter. He was furious that his game with Saga had been interrupted, but his expression was quickly replaced by one of false courtesy, as he acknowledged Deathmask’s words. “You should be able to tell him yourself, come tomorrow night,” Rhadamanthys said quietly. As Deathmask tilted his head in acquiescence, a barely discernable smile appeared on his face.

Having been very nearly beaten at his own gambit, Rhadamanthys saw no reason to continue associating with those he considered a threat to his position. Gathering his cloak around himself, he backed away from the Gold Saints, bowing slightly.

“Excuse me, but night is well nigh, and I’m afraid my master has need for me,” he said, locking gazes with each of the three Saints in turn. “Oh, and your Aphrodite has expressed interest in using a sparring space. The great hall is available for such activities; however, I suggest that you all seek rest instead. Battle demands a great deal from one’s body, and while I have confidence in your strength, it never hurts to prepare one’s mind prior to facing the enemy.”

Deathmask laughed as Rhadamanthys reached the doorway. “I have never needed to prepare myself to kill anyone, but your concern is…appreciated.”

Camus and Saga glanced at the Cancer Saint in surprise. The words were obviously carefully chosen for one purpose: to manipulate the situation back into the control of the Gold Saints. Rhadamanthys was no longer dismissing _them_. Instead, Deathmask was dismissing him. The rage in the Wyvern Specter’s eyes was proof that he too had noticed Deathmask’s play. He paused, shaking slightly, one hand on the door handle. It was obvious Rhadamanthys was considering whether it would be a greater loss of face to stay after clearly stating he was required by his master, or to let the jibe go. Finally, with a sound somewhere between a snarl and a grunt, he opened the door and swept out, letting it slam loudly behind him. A few moments later, Camus was at the door, quietly opening it a few inches to make sure they were once again alone. Stone halls meant little sound passed through the walls, but doors held none of those assurances.

Deathmask chuckled, leaning against a pillar.

Saga sighed, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have done that. He’s already suspicious, and there is no reason to anger him further.” He approached the Cancer Saint, intending to thank him for the intervention. But before he could utter a syllable, Deathmask’s entire body language changed, and when the elder Saint was within a few steps of him, Deathmask suddenly exploded, spinning on his heel. His face contorted with rage as he grabbed the taller man, slamming Saga into the wall. The element of surprise, along with his anger, gave him control over the larger man. As the metal helmet clattered to the floor behind him, Deathmask twisted his free hand into Saga’s blue hair, painfully pulling his head down to eye-level.

“Were you trying to make sure we fail, Gemini?” he hissed. Deathmask released Saga as Camus stepped forward to intervene. The Cancer Saint snapped his gaze toward the green-haired man. “Do not interfere, Aquarius! He needs to hear this!”

Camus hesitated, indecision clouding his actions. Of the two men, Camus was more inclined to defend Saga. Despite the past, the Gemini Saint had always been fiercely loyal to Athena, and certainly better company than Deathmask. On the other hand, Camus was fairly certain he knew what the Cancer Saint was about to say and, no matter how painful it may be, Deathmask was right. It needed to be said. With a sigh of resignation, Camus backed down, shifting his weight so he stood protectively by Saga’s shoulder without actually interfering. Deathmask raised one eyebrow, acknowledging the motion then turned his attention back to the still-frozen Saga.

“You are a fool, Gemini, and that’s the one thing I would never have taken you for!” He tightened his grip on the longhaired man’s scalp to keep his attention. “Rhadamanthys considers us a threat to his favor within the ranks of Hades. He would like nothing more than to discredit us and prove us to be traitors. It is his primary desire at the moment to prove to Hades that we have nothing in comparison to what he can offer.”

Deathmask paused as Saga squirmed, his knees buckling. Relentless even in the face of submission, Deathmask allowed him to shrink down, but twisted his hand back, still grasping the Gemini Saint’s hair, keeping the taller man’s gaze locked to his. “You seem perfectly willing to give him proof and to mess up everything we’re working towards. Hades has offered us a chance at greatness, in case you hadn’t noticed, and I’m not about to let you mess that up for all of us, simply because your too _pathetic_ to take what’s rightfully yours!”

Saga shook his head, not trying to escape, but to deny the accusation. “I’m sorry. For a moment, it felt like I was back...” The Gemini Saint trailed off, his reply lost as he trembled violently and fought back a moan of despair.

Deathmask shook his head. “I don’t need your sob stories, Gemini, nor does Athena! We all have our problems, in case you hadn’t noticed. Find a way to deal with it that won’t result in our failure! Find a sparring partner, destroy a few walls, find an empty bed and whack off until you can’t see straight, or ask Hades to give you a whore for the night. Maybe you could use that bitch Pandora. I don’t give a damn how you relieve stress, or what you do to get through the night, as long as you don’t do anything stupid enough to secure our defeat!”

Deathmask suddenly released him, disgust replacing the anger on his face. He furiously stood over the shaking Gemini Saint.

“I never thought you weak, Saga, but I’ve been known to misjudge people in the past. I hope I’m not wrong this time.” He leaned downward, but was suddenly stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Deathmask turned to Camus, ready to redirect his anger onto the younger man, but the green-haired Saint’s eyes were hard.

“You’ve said your piece, Deathmask. It was a valid point, and well made, but I think it’s time you left.”

Deathmask paused, shocked by Camus’ boldness. “You dare order me?” the Cancer Saint growled, his blood still high and his rage still seeking an outlet. Camus stood his ground calmly, refusing to accept the challenge.

“Leave,” Camus repeated firmly. “You have accomplished your goal. Overstaying your welcome could prove to be unwise.”

His words failed to diminish Deathmask’s anger, but the threat within them was clear. Camus would not willingly stand by and allow Deathmask to continue his barrage against the Gemini Saint. Camus’ non-verbal signals were as strong as his words, if not stronger, and after a few moments, Deathmask growled, throwing Camus’ hand off his shoulder.

“Fine!” the Cancer Saint spat, turning to the door. “I’m sure Aphrodite is still waiting for a fight anyway.” He paused briefly in hopes that the mention of his own less-than-appreciated methods would incite the younger Saint into action, but Camus didn’t stir. Deathmask continued on his way out, stopping only to pick up the discarded Gemini helmet, throwing it pointedly toward Saga. The headpiece bounced off the blue-haired Saint’s knee and came to rest on the floor once again. “Take your damn helmet! And don’t expect me to come to your rescue again!” He turned and stalked angrily to the door and exited without flourish, leaving the two Gold Saints alone in the vast hall.

As the echo of the closing door faded, the room fell into crypt-like silence. Camus clenched his fists in anger, knowing he should have intervened sooner. The Cancer Saint had gone too far, becoming so caught up in his own anger and desire to break Saga that his intentions had been lost in the barrage of verbal abuse. Camus shook his head. Unfortunately, the words had needed to be spoken. Saga had behaved recklessly when faced by the Wyvern Specter, but he had not needed to hear a list of his own shortcomings. Tonight, as it ever was in battle, it was the fighter’s strengths that needed to be bolstered, not their weaknesses thrown up for the world to see. Bowing his head in defeat, Camus turned to the older man, wondering how much damage he had allowed to take place by not acting sooner. Saga had not moved any more than what was needed to pull his knees to his chest. He sat curled into a loose ball, shoulders shaking slightly with each breath. It was not a promising sign. Between Deathmask’s temper, Shura’s conflict and Saga’s…despair, it looked like the Gold Saints were about to do a damned good job of destroying themselves from within long before they ever reached Sanctuary. He carefully drew a breath.

“Saga,” he began, unsure how to continue. “He’s angry and…”

“Don’t say it, Aquarius,” the blue-haired man said, cutting Camus off as he raised his head to look at the younger Saint. “Do not apologize for Deathmask. The words were not yours, and even if they were, it would not matter. He spoke only the truth. The Cancer Saint may be cruel, but he is always honest, and true to that which he promises loyalty.”

Eyes hard, Saga dared Camus to contradict him, to deny that he had messed up. It was not that he wanted the words denied, for both men knew Deathmask had indeed spoken the truth, but it had been the pattern of the night. He wanted something to cling to, and it was easy to cling to an argument of such measure.

Camus sighed, not wanting to fight this battle of wills any more than the others. The Cancer Saint was on Athena’s side this time. That much was certain. Although Deathmask may have engaged in activities that could be considered less than commendable for a champion of a goddess such as Athena, he had always been clear about where he stood. In fact, Camus realized with a start, Deathmask may actually have been the only one of them who had always been completely honest, especially to himself. The Cancer Saint had never denounced the possibility that Sanctuary might be at fault during the fight that had spelled his death. He had never, as the rest of them had, refused to consider the option that it actually was Athena who had turned the Bronze Saints and then dared to lead them in a siege against Sanctuary. He had simply acted in the way he always had, accepting the power, and the truth, behind the title of Pope, rather than the figure inside the robes. He served those whom he felt most deserving of his loyalty. In the past, it had been Ares, but even Deathmask could not stand by and watch as Hades went through with a plan far more insidious than the War God’s had ever been. Misguided and badly misjudging who deserved his protection, the Cancer Saint may have thought he stood for power, but no matter how he had wielded that power, he also stood for justice, and he would see that justice was provided for mankind…if he felt they deserved it.

No, Camus could not deny Saga’s assertion.

“But I’m afraid he may be right about the rest as well,” Saga continued suddenly, the words short, factual. “I may _not_ be able to do what needs to be done…” He trailed off, biting his lip against the onslaught of emotion, shaking hard.

Camus felt his heart go out to the older man, who had already been put through so much, and was being asked to do so again. Hesitantly, the Aquarius Saint approached and knelt by Saga, feeling the cerulean-haired Saint’s entire body jolt as he placed a hand on his shoulder. Briefly, Camus wondered why Saga doubted his own strength so much when the older Saint had made the greatest sacrifice he could to ensure Athena’s victory once before. “Saga, I don’t doubt that Deathmask’s words were true, just as I don’t doubt that you will do everything in your power to ensure we succeed tomorrow.”

Saga laughed, but it was a harsh bark, filled with mockery and self-loathing. “Perhaps,” he whispered. “But I’m not sure I can make it that long. I have survived in desolation so long, everything is so empty now.” His voice suddenly weary and lost. Saga leaned into Camus’ touch as he spoke, sliding his head down to trap the younger man’s hand onto his shoulder. It was an unplanned gesture, the fragile request of a man hovering on the edge of a breaking point.

Camus hesitated, then encircled his arms around the other man. He cradled Saga, trying to offer comfort and companionship, neither of them things he was used to projecting explicitly. The blue-haired man trembled against him and Camus tightened his grasp, trying to stave off his own pain as Saga began to speak again, whispering entreaties and apologies to people both present and far away, alive and dead.

The Gemini Saint had tried valiantly not to break down in the presence his adversary, and succeeded, but like most truly strong men, his strength ended at necessity. His life had been nothing but a chaotic ride of pain and uncontrollable consequences from a set of regrettable and unchangeable circumstances. Saga now bore a cloud of guilt that could only be wrought through the pain caused by such events. With these new circumstances and this new set of events, and a chance to change the fate of a goddess they had both died protecting, Saga found himself once again in a powerless position. Freedom and peace were denied to him because another deity had decided they would make suitable pawns in another game of thrones where their destiny provided the key.

They had all been asked to sacrifice in the past but, for Saga, it would be the third time that Destiny would ask him to sacrifice his happiness for her. In the first, it had been his destiny to become a Saint of the Goddess Athena, to protect and serve without thought for the life he had sacrificed. In the second, his destiny had been to become the host of an evil that Sanctuary had refused to acknowledge, and in the third…well, that was nearly the same as the first, thinly veiled under a web of lies and false promises. All warred for the once gentle soul of the Gemini Saint, and each owned an equal piece of his past and future. It was neither fair nor barely comprehendible, and yet Saga had stood under the weight and bore out his duty as long as needed; only collapsing under the strain once necessity was no longer required.

Threading his hand through the older man’s hair, Camus rested his brow on top of Saga’s head for a moment before pulling back, with the intent to stand. “No one is blaming you for the past, Saga. They know it is pure audacity to try. It is the future that they must look to for an answer.”

“The future only matters to those for whom it exists,” the Gemini Saint responded grimly.

Camus nodded. “My point exactly,” he said. “And it is our duty to make sure it both exists, and is worth living, for those whom the goddess considers important.”

Saga looked at the younger man for a moment, uncertain how to answer. The rest of the point hung like a stone between them, as it did between all the Saints who were now housed in the great walls of the great fortress…their prison. The unnamed point, and the truth was they were cheating death… living on literally borrowed time. As such, they didn’t matter. They had died; the book of their lives had closed. The future did not, could not, exist for them. Unnatural unto themselves, they could only assure themselves that they used their false strength to prevent an even more unnatural fate from being released upon the world. Suddenly, the Gemini Saint was intensely aware of the chill of the stones he knelt upon, how they seemed to beckon to the undeniable cold that threatened to consume his heart and with it, his spirit. As he slowly, he rose to his feet, Camus stood with him, backing away until only one hand rested almost imperceptibly on his shoulder, green eyes watching him with gentle concern.

Saga had momentarily forgotten about the younger Saint, however. His foot touched the helmet as he stood, and it lay shining up at him now with a sort of malevolent innocence – and only here could such a term actually have meaning – daring him…daring him. For a moment, the Gemini Saint considered leaving it, forgetting about the helmet. But to do so would mean he was beaten, defeated before the fight had ever begun. It didn’t matter whether the Wyvern spectre used it as a weapon against them, as a tool in arguing their faults, although it certainly could be used as such, as Deathmask had been so quick to point out. No, it was more than that. The armor, in all it’s darkness, stood for something, meant something. With a sudden wave of anger summoned from a place Saga himself wasn’t even sure of, he leaned down and swept up the helmet, defiantly shoving it under one arm before looking back at Camus. He felt a bit sheepish as he suddenly became intensely aware that the perceptive man knew exactly what was going on in his head.

“This room is hardly meant to be like this.” Saga said “Let us leave it to its own devices.”

Camus smiled sadly and nodded, pulling his cloak around himself as he straightened. Both men steeled themselves for the disbelief and suspicion they would inevitably have to stare down once they left the room. Although Hades, or his emissary, had ordered the Specters to give them their privacy, for reasons none of them had been able to understand, that wouldn’t stop numerous Specters from giving challenge in the hallways. Slowly, defiantly, they walked toward the section of living quarters that had been assigned to them, doing their best to radiate power and strength, and finding it strangely easy to do so. Nearby, they could feel familiar Cosmo flare as two of their comrades attempted to exhaust themselves beyond conscious thought, and as they passed the room Shion had claimed for his own, both men noted that the door was ajar and the room empty. Shion was still with Shura, and Saga hoped the Capricorn Saint would be all right. Shura’s actions had ironically been the result of Saga’s own weakness, a fact that weighed heavily on his shoulders. The death of Aiolios and the mistakes that followed were a source of unending agony for both men, but it was Shura who had carried out the order that Saga has been too weak to prevent Ares from giving. In Shura’s eyes, his misjudgment of that order, and the ones that had followed, had been a betrayal to the goddess he worshipped above all else, the goddess he had believed he’d been serving. Earlier that day, when he had received the dark replication of his own weapon, Excalibur, he had taken it outside and driven it into the ground, the mountain trembling under the force. Most of those in witness to the action had believed it was to test its strength, but those closest – all Gold Saints – had witnessed the agony on the Capricorn Saint’s face, the tears that had fallen before being burned away by the power of the weapon. Interestingly, Shura relished this chance to prove his loyalty, even if he despised the method and the need as they all did. If the guilt of his actions during life hadn’t rendered him insane by the next morning, he would be a much-needed strength to their side. But they would all just have to wait and see.

The walk had seemed longer earlier that day when the Saints met in the hall for dinner, and were subjected to a revolting welcome from Pandora before being left to their own devices. For Saga, the walk ended far too soon. He stood in front of the door to his assigned quarters, steeling himself against the darkness waiting for him within…and the ever-present loneliness. He entered, nearly jumping in alarm as Camus placed an unexpected hand on his arm.

“Do not think too much on Deathmask’s words. Concentrate on finding the strength that lies within you; the one you called on before,” he murmured.

Saga did not think to question which ‘before’ Camus was speaking of. There was only one that was burned so deeply into his mind that it plagued him even in death, so he did not think to question. He already knew what Camus was referring too, no matter how he wished he did not.

“And you?” he asked. “What should I ask you to concentrate on?”

Camus looked thoughtful, and paused before answering. “The same, but for different reasons,” he finally said.

Saga smiled sympathetically, guessing the exact meaning of the green-haired man’s words without much difficulty. Loss was a constant companion of the Aquarius Saint, but even the knowledge of the greater good barely reduced the pain that came with such sacrifice.

“Of course,” Saga answered as he pulled a candle from the holder near the door and lit it with one of the lanterns lining the halls. He was suddenly uncomfortable by the presence of the other man, and was unable to make eye contact with him. Saga was certain Camus felt it as well. “Then I wish us both luck with that.”

“Mm,” Camus agreed, slowly backing away from the blue-haired Saint, forcing himself to across the hall to his own room. Neither man wished to be alone, yet neither could quite think of a reason to remain with each other. Both felt a sense of almost clichéd doom as the doors to their rooms slid shut behind them, locking them in isolation.

Saga quickly lit the lamps in his room with the flaming candles in his hand. After being dead, darkness was something he wished to avoid as long as possible. He paused for a moment. It was odd how he automatically equated death with the dark. It hadn’t really been, it just hadn’t been exactly light. It was unexplainable really, even after having experienced it firsthand. He slowly began to undress, discarding the functional clothing they’d been given to wear and, he assumed, all that they would receive since the garments had obviously designed to be worn under their Clo-…their surplices. He slid into the robe that hung on the wall, shivering as the silk slipped over his skin, feeling the sensation with an uncommon clarity. It made him inexplicably angry. Maybe it was just being able to feel anything again. Since he’d been resurrected, Saga hadn’t been able to get the thought out of his head that everything seemed more intense, almost better, than before. But it simply might have been that his body was his again. He wasn’t sharing it with anyone or anything. Ares had been something of a hedonist after all, and perhaps he’d just stolen all the good feelings for himself, locking Saga in the hellish torment that had been his life for nearly 14 years. Saga hugged his shoulders and climbed into the elegant bed, briefly wondering why Hades seemed so intent on keeping them happy when they really didn’t have a choice in serving him. He pulled the blankets tightly around himself, wishing only for warmth. Alone, the cold ate at him again. It was a constant reminder of the past and his over-spent mortality. Knowing that sleep would be impossible, Saga pulled himself into a sitting position on the mattress, closed his eyes and attempted to meditate. He had no luck, the tranquility to grant himself that peace scattered like sand in the wind. Several minutes later, he opened his eyes with a small sigh of frustration and thumped the back of his head against the headboard angrily. The hollow sound of the wood banging against the wall behind him echoed an unexpected knock at the door.

Saga stared suspiciously at the source of the rapping for a few moments, then began untangling the sheets from around his legs in case it was a less-than-welcome visitor. The fleeting, surreal thought entered his mind that Deathmask might have actually requested a whore be sent to his bedroom, but the idea was quickly chased out by darker thoughts. The Gemini Saint nevertheless prepared himself for all possibilities.

“Enter,” he called out.

Saga shouldn’t have been surprised to see Camus appear in the doorway, looking unusually uncomfortable. He had changed as well, and the silk robe Camus wore was very similar to Saga’s. The Aquarius Saint held a candle in one hand and a single lamp cradled in his arm. He pointed with his chin toward the items as he stepped into the room.

“The lamps in my room weren’t very full, so I thought I’d make sure yours were alright,” he explained.

The excuse would have been almost plausible, if the green-haired man hadn’t winced as he said it. For the first time in many years, Saga was amused.

“Liar,” the Gemini Saint said gently, smiling at the look of embarrassment on Camus’ face. “You were checking up on me.”

“Not entirely,” Camus replied with mild indignation.

It was then Saga realized the Aquarius Saint was trembling. He shook his head, realizing it was probably from more than the dampness of the fortress. But it was more than a merely a guess on Saga’s part. Walking the same hell as Camus, it was easy to know what thoughts passed through the younger Saint’s mind. Still, neither quite knew what to say. An uncomfortable silence fell over them as Camus continued to stand just inside the doorway, holding his lantern like a sort of doll. Saga remained half-in, half-out of the bed, unsure if he should approach and offer comfort or pretend the situation didn’t exist. A flare of Cosmo elsewhere in the fortress broke the tension. It was Deathmask, without a doubt.

“Think they’ll keep it up all night?” Saga wondered aloud.

“They’ll be rather useless to Hades if they do,” Camus replied, carefully setting the lamp on the desk near the door and blowing out the candle before setting it beside the lamp.

“Maybe they should both give it their all. It would be an interesting way to get out of fighting: ‘I’m sorry, we can’t go through with your plan, we have to finish our fight, and it’s going to last for…several more days!’”

Camus raised an eyebrow, although one corner of his mouth upturned in amusement. It was odd, to use humor in their situation, and yet there was some relief to be found in the comment. The source was old territory, familiar even, drawing on knowledge that both men knew as well as they knew their Cloth. Although caught up in the strange moment, Saga continued.

“Perhaps we should all get in a massive battle,” he speculated, a note of near-seriousness in his voice, knowing that even as he said it…

“We can’t.”

Ah…there it was. No mincing of words either. Camus never was one to avoid a point. They could no more seriously consider that way out than they could march up to Rhadamanthys and tell him in a loud voice that they were sorry, but they wanted nothing to do with the Wyvern Saint’s evil boss and his terrible plan to end the life of Athena and destroy the whole human race. The choice was out of their hands; they could only go forward into whatever darkness the Fates had chosen for them.

However, the words had tempted Camus too. Alone in the darkness, it would be easy to just say they’d done enough, that Sanctuary could take care of itself and Hades be damned! The God of the Netherworld could send the Saints back to the place he’d so inelegantly ripped them from. How tantalizing it would be to stop here and not face the gazes of betrayal and pain from those they loved and worshiped on the other side. It would be so incredibly, beautifully simple just to give up.

Of course, that was exactly what was wrong with it. They were Saints. Death didn’t change that. ‘Simple’ would never be a part of their lives, as they were not simple creatures. Simple people didn’t become Saints. Simple people didn’t understand the need for such an existence. Simple people would look at the Saints and be repulsed. Simple people would consider them brainwashed and deluded by hideous pasts. Simple people moved through their mundane lives performing mundane tasks that they often believed to be tedious, not knowing how blessed they were. Simple people, who watched as the Saints’ battled in the arena for their entertainment, certainly didn’t understand that there was just one girl – a goddess – but still only a girl, and a handful of devoted soldiers standing between mankind and annihilation.

Clenching his fists, Camus repeated the words, more to convince himself than anyone else. “We just can’t.”

“Of course we can’t, but it would be strangely satisfying,” Saga said quietly. He’d crawled to the end of the bed, reaching out a hand to the trembling Saint, noting that his own hand was shaking just as badly. Camus ignored the hand, but accepted the invitation, and sat on the bed without a word. Saga tried to force another smile, quite certain that it did little to mask the grimace he was trying to hide.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, reaching out a hand and laying it on the younger Saint’s shoulder, the movement forcing him to realize just how warm Camus was in contrast to the cold that compressed his soul. Without thinking, he slid closer to the Aquarius Saint, although he noted the questioning look from Camus.

“Don’t leave,” Saga said suddenly, spontaneously, quite certain that if he was left alone again he’d go insane, terrified that the cold would eat him from the inside out, and from the outside in, until he was no more human than the marble statues that lined the hallways of the fortress.

“Stay here…with me,” Saga gently pleaded, as though Camus might not have understood his meaning the first time. He leaned against the green-haired man and wondered if Camus could feel the heat that seemed to be passing between them.

The Aquarius Saint was tense under his arm, but he didn’t move as he watched Saga through eyes that were both wary and filled with need. It took several moments, but he finally spoke.

“Do I even have a choice?” he asked, knowing the answer as surely as if he’d been asked if life was worth fighting for. They could no more be alone that night than they could deny the sanctity of life…or that it was only the other’s presence that prevented them from falling.

True, the pure need to protect mankind and the beliefs of their goddess lent them strength, but there came a breaking point, when no amount of honor, no amount of need, could block out the pain or the terror that they might fail.

Saga cast his eyes downward, the words not what he wished to hear. Camus gazed at him a few moments longer before tilting his head just enough to brush his cheek against Saga’s knuckles, where they rested on his shoulder. The Gemini Saint was momentarily startled, then looked at green-haired man, unsure. Camus exhaled, trying to buy time to think.

“I won’t let you be alone tonight,” he said simply.

Saga eyed the Aquarius Saint with a mix of slight awe and gratitude. Even for a Saint, Camus had been a wonder of humanity. Scarred and unable to touch his own emotions much of the time, the younger man had forever been a figure of mystery and intrigue to the other Saints. But to those he opened up to, and those who were willing to take the time to listen to the t oft of the ice-bound creature, he was passionate, gentle and possessed of a soul that strived eternally for justice and a bright future that somehow seemed less distant in his presence. He was the type of being that graced the pages of romance novels; that people struggled to become in times of war, but could never quite succeed. Camus would not hesitate to give up everything he was, and ever had been, if he felt that the loss of self would benefit the greater good, or even a single individual. Both Sanctuary and the individuals who protected it had benefited from his incorruptible nobility more than once. Ice-cold at first glance, it was impossible not to be affected by the Aquarius Saint once one became close to him.

Overcome by guilt, Saga hung his head in shame as Deathmask’s suggestion rang through his mind once again.

“I’m about to take advantage of you, aren’t I?” he asked dejectedly.

Camus shuddered slightly, taking the Gemini Saint’s hand from his shoulder and threading his fingers through Saga’s. “Sometimes it is better to allow yourself to be taken advantage of than to remain lost out in the dark.”

Saga shook his head, and he mirrored Camus’ sorrowful smile. They feared the same things, almost completely. It wasn’t surprising that they should do so, as they shared similar pasts, and identical futures, and there was a comfort to be gained from the knowledge there was someone who thoroughly comprehended the thoughts, the turmoil, the pain, the fear, the constant dread, and nearly unbearable burden of what would be lost if they couldn’t bring themselves to succeed. Saga moved off the bed and slid around on his knees in front of the Aquarius Saint. He hooked his arms around Camus’ waist and rested his head against the green-haired man’s chest, acutely aware of each breath taken in and expelled by the younger Saint.

_“Breathing,”_ Saga thought ruefully. It was yet another simple, unconscious human function that was noticeably absent in death.

Saga pulled himself closer to Camus, suddenly quite aware of how quickly the situation had gone from thoughts and platonic comfort to something more…much more. It was something that quite possibly should have felt out of the ordinary, or at least awkward, but was instead inordinately comforting and somehow right for the insanity of the situation. He pressed his face firmly into Camus’ chest, listening intently to the green-haired man’s rapid heartbeat and breathing. He slowly looked up to meet Camus’ gaze.

“Desperate times, eh?” Saga asked quietly, ashamed that he was asking far more of Camus than he would have given if the situation had been reversed.

Camus paused, one hand instinctively brushing across Saga’s back and up to his shoulder. He dipped his head, resting it for a moment on top of the Gemini Saint’s silky blue hair before hesitantly pulling back. “Saga…this…we shouldn’t do something that we’ll regret.”

Saga made a noise that might have been a strangled laugh, pressing himself up against the younger Saint and burying his face against Camus’ neck. “Don’t say it, Camus. Bedtime stories aren’t going to work tonight, and you know it,” he whispered. “Besides, we’ve done so much, and are going to do so much more. What do we possibly have left to regret?”

Camus shook his head. “This…is different,” he said quietly.

Saga pulled back slightly, looking up at the green-haired man carefully, trying to decide just how much he was asking. Camus was shivering, and his uncertainty was apparent in his eyes, and in the way he leaned into Saga’s touch even as he caught the blue-haired man’s wrist to push it away from him.

The Aquarius Saint’s pain tore at Saga deeply, but perhaps selfishly, he couldn’t let it be. He needed this…no matter how surreal and unexpected it was he needed it. A spark of desperate determination flashed in Saga’s eyes, and he stood, taking a step closer and straddling Camus’ thighs, placing his hands on the younger mans shoulders, ignoring the surprise he saw on the green-haired man’s face. “Of course it’s different. It hurts, Camus, I can’t stand to be alone tonight. I can’t stand to think about what may happen tomorrow, or what pain we may cause to meet our ends. I don’t want to think, and I don’t want to feel, because when I do, I get scared. We’re going to die again, Camus, and I know it’s worth it, but it scares me. It hurts...but I’m willing to make that sacrifice. I just can’t think about it. Perhaps, for me anyway, it’s selfish and cruel, but I know you don’t want to think about it either. I don’t want to think, I just want to forget everything. I don’t even want to be _able_ to think!” Each sentence, each word, was punctuated by a gentle kiss placed on Camus’ face or neck, utterly captivating the Aquarius Saint and making his attempts at escape impossible.

“Don’t think, Camus,” Saga pleaded softly into the younger Saint’s, hi, his voice choking with pain and tears. He slid one hand slowly down Camus’ spine with deliberate seduction. “Feel. Please…just feel.”

Camus trembled. The heat of Saga’s hand was much hotter than it should have been. The warmth burned through the thin silk of his robe, the smooth fabric itself adding to the sensations as Saga ran his hand down his back and up over his shoulders. While the Gemini Saint was trying to crawl into Camus’ skin, he was also giving him the choice to leave, terrified and dreading the night, wanting nothing more than a way to escape the insidious cold that was gnawed at his stomach. In Saga’s arms, however, the younger Saint could escape, if only for a few short hours. It would be a Lethe of their own making.

Acknowledging that, and the knowledge of his own mortality, was Camus’ undoing. Bowing his head slightly, the Aquarius Saint offered apologies to the handful of people he was betraying, and lifted a shaking hand to hook a finger under Saga’s chin, raising the blue-haired Saint’s gaze to meet his own. “May Athena forgive us our weakness,” he whispered.

Saga looked up, his face shining with pain and a heartbreaking need for release, or possibly redemption. The Gemini Saint didn’t speak, but simply dipped his head so Camus’ hand was cupping his face, and placed a kiss on his palm. Gently, he pushed Camus backwards onto the bed, the green-haired man willingly sliding back so that he lay fully on the mattress, refusing to relinquish his hold on Saga. He pulled the older Saint with him, causing Saga to sprawl against him. There, however, they both hesitated, Saga silently gazing down at the Aquarius Saint, quite certain that everything which needed to be said for the night had been said, but not entirely sure silence was appropriate either.

“Camus,” he began then abruptly paused. He was still uncertain what to say, so instead reached down to brush away a few stray locks of Camus’ dark hair in order to better see his deep green eyes, as well as the pain and the desperate need reflected there. Although he had willingly consented, Camus still seemed frightened and hesitant. Perhaps the Aquarius Saint didn’t want this after all, and was only acquiescing for Saga’s benefit. It wouldn’t be the first time. Indeed, the art of self-sacrifice was at the very core of the younger Saint’s being.

It was strange really. They didn’t quite know how to proceed. In terms of the physical act, they knew what to do. They weren’t naïve, and they both knew exactly where they wanted to end up, having decided what was going to happen long before they’d reached this point. Yet they couldn’t quite figure out their next move.

Camus looked up at Saga, long lashes half-concealing his eyes in a manner that seemed completely out of character for the Aquarius Saint, but was at the same time astonishingly beautiful on his refined features. He cocked his head slightly, and Saga had the feeling the younger man knew exactly what thoughts were passing through his mind. Camus reached up, tangling his hand in Saga’s dark blue hair and pulled the older man down, capturing his mouth with a kiss that probably incited more than it should have. The warmth they felt between them before suddenly spread like an uncontrollable brushfire through the Gemini Saint’s body, and he found himself clinging to the younger Saint as the heat left no room for hesitation or even conscious thought. The kiss was brief, a moment longer than fleeting, undemanding and yet filled with a sensual promise of experience, possession, and release. As they pulled apart, Saga emitted low groan of disbelief and desperate need. He tried to follow, to maintain contact as Camus turned his head. Gently, the green-haired man released Saga’s head and slid his hand down, coming to rest in the middle of his back.

“We could sit here and stare at each other all night,” he said, expression anxious but his voice teasing. “But one of us might turn into a pot by morning.”

Saga blinked. The joke wasn’t quite getting through to his brain. His synapses had already been abused by fear, hysteria and pain, followed by need and desire. “Pot,” he repeated curiously, as if he didn’t know the meaning of the word. His mind was utterly transfixed on the spot where Camus’ hand rested, his fingers tracing abstract patterns in the center of his back.

Camus suddenly began to wonder about the intelligence of his comment. At that point, he wasn’t certain he was thinking straight either. Saga had judged him well. He wanted everything the night could offer, and none of what silence would bring. If he hadn’t been trying so hard to be casual, to reassure the older man since it appeared Saga mirrored his consternation, Camus would have been shaking as hard as the Gemini Saint, and quite possibly would have thrown himself back into the kiss until they both suffocated. “Yes,” he finally replied. “A pot which will never start boiling.” But he was unable to elaborate on the thought.

However, something seemed to get through to Saga, even if the wit was lost on him, which was probably a good thing. Levity was rarely displayed in Camus, so he really couldn’t be blamed for the unsuccessful attempt. Saga shook his head. “I don’t want to boil. I want to burn.”

The words were spoken firmly and with such unwavering certainty that they seemed to shake Saga loose from whatever trance held him. He immediately stopped shaking and leaned forward, pinning one hand on each side of Camus’ head, moving in closely to the other man. “To burn, to feel, to pretend that there is nothing else but now, and no place other than here,” he continued, almost begging Camus to challenge his words.

The Aquarius Saint had no intention of doing so. Instead, he slid his arm further across Saga’s back, pulling the blue-haired man more firmly against him. “So burn,” he murmured a hair’s breadth from Saga’s skin, the words both a dare and a request. “Incinerate us both…if you can.”

Ultimately, it was Camus’ admission they were in it together, and equally involved in what went on from that moment, that undid any last reservations within Saga The blue-haired man crushed himself against Camus with a force that probably would have been uncomfortable were it not for the forgiving quality of the mattress underneath giving way under the onslaught. In control, and finally willing to take it, Saga was a maelstrom descending on Camus, his mouth coming down with bruising force, their teeth clashing briefly before reason urged the older man to relent slightly even as Camus parted his lips, granting entrance before it was demanded.

Although he had been the catalyst and was somewhat expecting it, Camus was still surprised by the power behind Saga’s actions. He gasped for air under the raw passion, tilting his head back, gaining some distance as he brought his other hand up and into Saga’s hair again, pulling himself up to meet the Gemini Saint with equal force. Any other reaction would have ended in annihilation. The desperate need and fear that consumed them both slowly transformed into a pure desire that, although more focused, was no less desperate. They converged…body, mind and soul…on a single goal…on a certain end…on each other.

Their movements from that moment on progressed naturally. When Camus’ hand pulled him back, Saga let him. On some level, it was nice to be out of control, but to know that the power lay within your hands to take it back at any moment. Threading his fingers through the silken strands of Camus’ hair, Saga allowed the kiss to break, studying the Aquarius Saint through eyes drunken with lust.

Breathless and trembling, Camus returned the gaze, mirroring the desire that he felt burning through his blood, eating him alive. His hair spread out across the pillows, and one sleeve of his robe had slipped down to expose his shoulder. Underneath it all, the same pained vulnerability remained, tempering the sensual image with gentle uncertainty. In short, he was beautiful. Saga felt something in his heart rip apart as his eyes consumed the younger Saint, and for the first time in years, it was more sweet than bitter. He pressed his forehead to Camus’ for a few moments, and a stray thought crossed his mind. He couldn’t help but wonder just how many people had been caught by the Aquarius Saint’s spell during his short life, and how many had fallen in love with him for nothing more than his simple existence. Then Saga suddenly realized it didn’t matter. At that moment, the entire universe had contracted to this room and their own brief time within it. What lay outside existed, but would remain unexplored. For this moment, trapped within the darkness of the night’s shadows, love was only a small part of their union. Alongside it coursed trust, fear, and most importantly, need. They needed each other, and therefore would give of themselves completely, without hesitation.

When one’s life meant nothing, there was really little else one could do.

And that was precisely what they were trying so desperately to prove to themselves in the dark with only each other’s presence to block out the desolation. They kissed again, their mouths meeting with a fierce desperation that could only be born from fear, learning each other’s nightmares and dreams in that simple act, in a way that was far more personal and touching than conversation could ever be.

For several moments, they simply touched each other, trying to gain knowledge of each other’s bodies. Not wanting to be bothered with the belt, Saga easily, hungrily pulled Camus’ robe up and off his shoulders, burying his face in the pale and flawless skin that was exposed to him, murmuring unintelligible words and phrases to the younger man. In response, Camus stroked Saga’s hair with one hand while the other grasped his shoulder in a warning not to pull back. Now that they were no longer alone, and finally able to block out the pain and loneliness, they couldn’t get enough of the sheer presence of each other, the raw desire and passion drowning out any second thoughts either had as soon as they surfaced.

Camus found himself craving the fervent kisses Saga had given him before, the reality of them utterly solid in the surreal night, and when the Gemini Saint started to travel lower, he made a sound of regret. Curious, Saga pulled back and looked at him. Camus blushed slightly and shook his head, hoping the older man would simply continue. Instead, Saga slid upward, expertly pressing his body against Camus’, making sure they lined up in all the right places. With one hand on each side of the green-haired Saint’s body, Saga rested his temple against Camus’ shoulder before bringing his lips up to his ear.

“Tell me,” he whispered then paused. Camus could hear his breath intake sharply, and wondered what had happened, but the Gemini Saint recovered quickly, pulling back and meeting Camus’ eyes. “No, don’t tell me…” he corrected. “Show me what you want. Whatever it is.”

The request had been voiced, and Camus’ didn’t speculate on its origin. It didn’t matter. Saga seemed suddenly afraid to be the one in control, and to Camus, that much was painfully obvious. The younger Saint nodded then shifted their positions, rolling smoothly over so that Saga was laid out underneath him. “I understand,” Camus whispered in the dimness.

Saga’s hands came up and around Camus’ back, his fingers tangling in the shining softness of the Aquarius Saint’s green hair. Camus’ face was tender, and strangely calm as he pressed his lips to Saga’s. His hair brushed the underside of Saga’s jaw, and the older Saint trembled under his gentle, undemanding requests. He was relieved that Camus had been willing to take control. To be able to give up control, willingly, was something that he’d been denied for a long time, and it freed him somewhat. Ares had owned his body and soul for too long, dictating and deciding when, and if, he would act. To have the option to take the submissive role solely by his own choice meant far more to him than being dominant.

Tentatively, the two Saints began to explore each other, becoming accustomed to the change in their roles. Camus began to scatter kisses along Saga’s jaw, starting at his jawbone and over his chin. Both men closed their eyes when their lips finally met again. Saga briefly wondered how the quiet Saint had become so skilled in the art of seduction. The kiss was remarkably similar to the first they had experienced only moments ago. It was simple exploration, as tentative as the meeting of their souls. Quickly, however, it morphed into a frenetic inferno as the new lovers allowed the sensation to consume them completely. They clung to each other with a punishing ferocity that neither really noticed as they let the momentum of their passion take over. Camus wielded his power well, and Saga yielded to it, parting his lips before Camus’ tongue had even asked begged entrance. They paused only long enough to strip away their disheveled robes that had suddenly become a hindrance and an annoyance. Camus’ robe was discarded to the side while Saga simply peeled the silky fabric off his arms and shoulders, but left the garment beneath his body. Having removed the thin barrier that stood between their bare flesh, the two men came together once more, Camus more sure of his lead this time, and determined to do it right. He slid his hands lightly along Saga’s sides, barely brushing the smooth skin, the feather-light touches causing Saga to writhe and arch into him. Soon the Gemini Saint became vocal in his passion, and he cried out as Camus leaned down to nip at his collarbone. The hand belonging to Saga that wasn’t trying to meld itself into Camus’ flesh clenched and unclenched on the mattress, grasping the bed sheets one moment, beating against them the next. Encouraged by the moans and occasional recognizable vocalizations, Camus began to spread kisses all over the blue-haired man’s chest, collarbone and neck. Some were tender and lingering, others painful and dark. Camus slung one leg easily over Saga’s hips, straddling him comfortably. The liquid movement brought forth a ragged groan from the Gemini Saint as he urgently pushed his pelvis upward against his partner. Camus set the tempo, and they soon settled into a slow, steady rocking. The younger Saint’s blood boiled as it coursed through his body, and a deep, throaty moan signaled his own desire as he continued to trace long, wet paths over Saga’s chest with his tongue. He caught Saga’s flexing hand and pressed it to the sheets, threading their fingers together. The Gemini Saint’s entire body twitched in ecstasy as Camus delicately and carefully bit down on his nipple then gently sucked at it.

The younger Saint answered the pleading in Saga’s eyes with eager willingness. Camus began exploring…tasting…teasing. As each boundary was pushed and tested, he was struck with the sudden joyous realization that he was giving Saga what he needed, and helping the blue-haired man work through his pain, without hurting himself in the process. He temporarily pulled away from Saga, smiling at the Gemini Saint’s small sound of disappointment. Shaking his head, the younger man shifted his position so that he rested between his partner’s thighs. Saga instantly wrapped his powerful legs around Camus’ hips, pulling him closer and grinding against him with almost panicked urgency.

“Slow down,” Camus murmured softly, even as he matched the rhythm of Saga’s pelvis. He panted breathlessly as the overwhelming strength of the older Saint’s need became an almost painful throbbing between his legs.

“Slow down,” he repeated, peppering kisses lower and lower on Saga’s body. “We have all night for this.”

Saga shook his head desperately, hands blindly reaching out. “Time never follows an even path. Please don’t make me wait any longer!”

_“More riddles?”_ Camus thought. Deciphering them was impossible, as they came from the twisted perceptions of one who had seen the truth with a terrifying clarity unlike anyone else. It was all Camus could do to give him what he needed. Saga continued to rock against him, hard, impatient at his hesitation. Camus gasped as the movement sent a cascade of pleasure through his body. Saga was not the only one who needed release.

His mind conceded to the decision his body had already made, spiraling into blind, animal instinct as his hips ground against Saga’s. A thousand waves of sensation crashed over him with every movement. Struggling for some aspect of control, Camus forced himself to slow, concentrating on the slick skin of Saga’s chest and stomach, pausing only briefly when he encountered the angry scar that marred the Gemini Saint’s perfect breast. It was a permanent reminder to Saga of what had been lost. Tearing himself away before he lost control for good, Camus slid back further, continuing his trail of kisses over Saga’s navel. He smoothed the warm, silken skin at the junction of leg and body with feather touches, making Saga writhe and shift, trying to move his touch over…and inward.

Saga cried out as Camus wrapped a hand around him. His hips arched upward to meet the grasp eagerly, his body shaking with need and effort. The Aquarius Saint ran his thumb along the shaft, using the warm pre-cum to lubricate the sensitive skin. When he reached the top, Camus he ran his thumb over it, teasing the sensitive tip before sliding his hand back down. Saga closed his eyes and grabbed Camus’ wrist, trying to quicken the pace, and protesting when his green-haired partner refused.

As he continued the rhythm of his right hand, Camus cupped Saga’s balls in his left, kneading them firmly against each other for several moments before moving his hand downward and around to Saga’s backside. He slid a finger over the taut skin of the perineum before gently massaging the puckered flesh around Saga’s opening, relaxing it while Saga closed his eyes and reminded himself that this was ok.

Carefully, Camus slid one finger into the tight hole, hesitating when Saga tensed; at the sharp intake of breath he heard from the older man. He began to withdraw, but Saga shook his head violently.

“It’s...okay,” he gasped hoarsely. “Keep…going.” The words were stilted, fragmented by the haze that saturated Saga’s mind. Camus pressed a gentle kiss on the knee nearest him.

“Is there anything we can use?” he asked, searching the room with his eyes as Saga tried to deny his discomfort; to force the green-haired Saint to continue. Camus spied the unlit lamp he had brought with him, and if his face hadn’t already been flushed with passion, he probably would have blushed. He pulled away from Saga, despite the Gemini Saint’s protests, then leaned over and kissed him firmly.

“Only a few seconds, I promise” he whispered, crawling across the bed to the nightstand and removing the lamp’s glass globe. He coated one hand liberally with the viscous fluid, holding it away from his body as he returned to Saga’s side, stopping briefly to admire the sight of the frustrated Saint before returning to his position between his legs.

As he smoothed his hand over the tight muscles of Saga’s stomach, the blue-haired man’s eyes glimmered with unfulfilled lust.

“If this is going to take much longer, I’ll tie you to the bed and finish this myself!” he warned in mock-anger.

Camus smirked, and raised an eyebrow at his lover. Using his oil-slicked hand, he slid one finger, then another, into Saga’s opening. The resistance lessened, although the tight heat clenching his fingers drove him nearly mad with thoughts of what was to come. He teased Saga, moving his fingers with aching slowness. He then inserted a third; searching deep for the spot he knew was there.

Saga felt his temperature rise several degrees as Camus found his prostrate. He grabbed at the green-haired man’s wrist, begging him penetrate deeper, his hips lifting off the bed with each thrust of Camus’ hand. Saga’s head whipped from side to side against the pillows as his body and mind surrendered to the rapturous sensations. From somewhere deep inside, his last threads of rational thought allowed him to voice a single command.

“Now,” he hissed between clenched teeth.

Camus felt certain that the erotic image that Saga was presenting to him would be forever burned in his mind. He needed little encouragement to remove his hand, quickly rubbing the last of the oil on his own throbbing organ, and kneel between his partner’s legs. He hastily pulled Saga’s hips forward, grabbing a pillow and shoving it under his lower back for support. He positioned himself and pushed forward as Saga wrapped his legs around him, burying himself deep inside the Gemini Saint’s body.

Saga groaned, the sound broken, and threw his head back against the pillows in wild abandon, his hands searching for something…anything…to hold on to, but finding nothing. Then, from somewhere far away, he suddenly realized a part of him had been broken, that it wasn’t supposed to be like this. The overwhelming need for gratification had taken him too far. He’d lost himself, and he was about to be destroyed by what he had started. The feeling of being taken, of being together and giving up his body and soul to another had become too much for him. Saga was certain he wouldn’t survive. In the midst of it, he slowly became aware that Camus had stopped. The green-haired man looked down at him with concern, his thighs trembling with the effort of holding still. Leaning down, pressed their foreheads together, before kissing Saga, harder than either of them would have expected. The Gemini Saint concentrated on that one simple, implicit sensation, letting the scattered pieces of his psyche return to wholeness. Saga’s eyes fluttered open as their kiss ended.

“I… he whispered, not sure what the proper thing to say was, watching Camus through heavy lids. “I’m sorry?”

Camus’ eyes shone with understanding, and he tenderly brushed away a few lonely blue strands of hair from Saga’s cheek. He seemed to look inwards for a moment, than smiled sadly. “She was lucky to have you as her Saint,” he said. “She still is…”

Without waiting for a response from Saga, Camus leaned over the surprised Gemini Saint and began to move. He sheathed himself inside Saga’s body again and again, slowly and deliberately, inciting a feel of utter possession each time he was stopped by the limits of flesh and bone. Saga writhed and moaned beneath him, hips lifting off the mattress with every thrust, trying to break those limits. His head tossed uncontrollably, and his hair whipped across his face as the primal scream that had demanded release all night nearly broke loose, stopped only by the fist Saga had brought up to his mouth to stifle the sound. His muscles clenched around Camus, daring him to remain inside, even as both men became lost in the ancient dance. Their movements became faster and more frantic as Camus grabbed Saga’s hips roughly and drove himself into the tight opening, penetrating over and over into the warm depths.

From the part of his mind that still tried to hold onto rational thought, Camus wondered where this sudden desire, this unquenchable need to let go and allow pure instinct to take complete control of his actions, had come from. He could not find the answer, and would not search for the answer in the future for fear of the pain the truth would inevitably reveal. Instead, he gave himself up for lost, wrong or right or somewhere in the middle.

Saga cried out a tangled stream of pleas and Camus’ name, the sounds choked by emotion as they escaped from behind the hand he crushed against his mouth. He threw his head back as his entire body was drawn taught and lifted half off the bed. His hands grasped blindly at Camus, finally settling on his hips, helping to set the punishing rhythm. The sensations rapidly increased to the level of molten heat as Camus continued to thrust harder. The blue-haired Saint tightened around him as he neared completion, and Camus found himself unable to hold back any longer. He leaned over Saga; his hands still planted firmly on the Gemini Saint’s hips in an iron grip. Unable to do anything else as the climax tore through him, Camus cried out into Saga’s open mouth.

The blue-haired man choked back a sob of loss as he felt Camus finish. His own member throbbed in fitful protest of its thwarted release. As he reached over a hand to grasp it, Camus’ fingers closed around his wrist, Saga’s intention of self-release. Saga looked up in time to see Camus slide down between his legs, staring in awe as the Aquarius Saint slid his mouth over his erection.

Camus wasn’t sure what had come over him in that moment, but he was certain dues were owed to the man who had seen his soul, and who had not been compelled to trample on it. When he became aware that Saga still had not reached climax, Camus allowed instinct to take over, guiding him in actions he had done little more than observe in the past.

Saga’s eyes slowly shut as Camus’ warm mouth closed around him. Wet friction slid the length of his penis, and his breath caught in his throat before escaping in a long ragged gasp. Camus’ talented tongue worked the length of his shaft, and his lips suckled, pushing him to the edge of orgasm. Saga buried his fingers into Camus’ hair, holding the younger Saint’s head in place, and thrust upward…once…twice…

Camus shifted and tried to relax his throat. He remained still as Saga took the lead, allowing the Gemini Saint to set his own pace. Saga felt himself spiraling, rising and falling at the same time; his body lifting off the bed as the sensation reached its crescendo. His hand tightened spasmodically in Camus’ hair as he spilled himself into his lover’s throat while the green-haired man swallowed easily.

Saga collapsed against the pillows, filling his lungs noisily as his brain struggled for oxygen. He was dimly aware of Camus moving up the bed, and he leaned upward to watch the younger man, his body protesting. As Camus slid up next to him, Saga pressed a final kiss to Camus’ lips.

“Thank you,” he whispered quietly they parted.

“Unnecessary,” Camus replied, his voice slurred by fatigue. “I think it would be fair to call this equal.”

For a brief moment, both men considered continuing the conversation, but neither could think of anything worthwhile to say. It may have crossed their minds that the next logical step would be to get some sleep since the following day was to be a busy one. But, for them, tomorrow didn’t exist. It would arrive soon enough without their acknowledging it, and together…in that small, darkened room…their world only extended as far as the door.

Yes, tomorrow would be different. The harsh reality of existence would retake its place on their shoulders, and they would march, war weary and hurting, into battle. But for tonight, they were simply two individuals, barely out of youth despite having grown up long ago, sharing their hearts and souls with each other for a few short minutes. They sought only to fall into a dark oblivion that would leave even their private world behind. Too soon, their burdens would reemerge in the harsh light of morning. At least this time there was someone to share it with.

Silently, comforted by each other’s presence and physically exhausted, the two scarred souls twined their bodies together, and drifted into the welcome amnesia that was sleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> (yeah, these acknowledgements are 8 years old, but the thanks stand even if the mailing list is defunct): Special acknowledgement to my betas Animom and Moonwingpamela, who made my first-ever published fic a thousand times better. Also, The Saint Seiya Yaoi ML, because the members are awesome, and their likemindedness gave me the courage to post this.


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